


Holiday Quiz Night at The Mugg Pub

by justmattycakes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff, Post-Canon, pub quiz!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:08:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28272885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justmattycakes/pseuds/justmattycakes
Summary: The Potters have a new family tradition: holiday quiz night at The Dignified Muggle - Diagon Alley's ONLY muggle-themed pub!
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 10
Kudos: 34
Collections: 2020 Hinny Discord Incognito Elf Exchange!





	Holiday Quiz Night at The Mugg Pub

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eslon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eslon/gifts).



> A special thank you to FloreatCastellum for explaining quiz nights to me, to WhiffingBooks for listening & providing insight on characterization, and to TheDistantDusk for hosting this wonderful event & sanity checking my ideas!
> 
> Eslon - I'm glad I was your Incognito Elf, and I hope you enjoy the ways I've worked Liverpool, muay thai, and chickens into the story!

It had become a family tradition; every year the Potters and the Weasley-Grangers would bundle up for warmth and head into London, weaving their way through the holiday shoppers in Diagon Alley until they found the dark green door that led to _The Dignified Muggle_. It was a strange sight to the uninitiated, a nondescript door hidden among garish signs and sprawling Christmas displays, but the placement and decor were quite intentional.

 _The Dignified Muggle_ — or The Mugg Pub, as it was affectionately called — wasn’t just any old wizarding pub in that it was hardly a wizarding pub at all. Like The Leaky Cauldron, The Mugg Pub was a doorway to a hidden world, an island of muggle culture and tradition inside an otherwise unremarkable sea of old wizarding establishments.

Or so the brochures claimed, though Harry had his doubts regarding the authenticity.

“Why are we going alone this year? Why aren’t Rose and Hugo coming?” Lily asked, loosening her scarf as she trudged through the snow. “And what about Aunt Hermione? Won’t we lose if she isn’t here?”

"We might lose, but that's no reason not to play. It'll be fun," Harry answered.

"Mom says that's what people say when they know they'll lose," Lily added. Ginny raised her eyebrows but said nothing, trying to hide her smile.

“I heard that they can’t come because Uncle Ron is on trial for poisoning a Ministry Inspector,” James said, stooping down to gather more snow to pack into his snowball. It was already about the size of his head, and Harry was watching him closely to make sure he didn’t throw it at a stranger or dump it down the back of Al’s coat. Again.

Beside Harry, Ginny snorted, reaching out to ruffle James’s hair. “Where do you come up with these things?” Then, to Lily, she added, “The truth is actually much more sinister. Aunt Hermione can’t come back this year because the owner banned her until next Christmas after that big row with the quiz witch. Do you remember that, Lily?”

"Is that why Teddy isn't coming?"

"No, he's spending the holiday in France with your aunt and uncle."

"And Victoire, who he's _obsessed_ with," Al added, looking pleased with himself.

“You’re just mad that you didn’t get to spend the holiday with Scorpius,” Lily shot back, but Al only blushed in response.

“It will be a nice family night,” Ginny said, ruffling Al’s hair, “so all of you behave, alright?”

Harry _had_ tried to convince Ron to come along anyway, but Ron was too clever to be persuaded by the promise of ale and chips alone.

“I’m sorry mate,” Ron had said, “you know I love Mugg Pub more than anything, they always let me wear that old centurion helmet when I go, but I’ve got to sit this one out in solidarity. Happy wife, keep my life and all that. But you all will be by the Burrow tomorrow for the roast, right?”

* * *

A witch dressed as a Christmas elf opened the door, her face full of good cheer as she greeted them in a sing-song voice. When she saw Harry, her eyes flicked to his forehead for a moment before settling back on his face.

“It’s just you lot, innit?” she asked, the mirth gone from her voice as her eyes darted between him and Ginny. “The others can’t come back this year, on account of…”

“The suspension, yes, we remember. Just us this year, I promise,” Harry answered quickly. He looked to Ginny as she nudged him, pointing to a photograph of Hermione pinned by the till under a label that said ‘ _No Admittance Permitted’_. He had to suppress the urge to laugh as Hermione’s face cycled through various expressions of fury, all the while glaring at any of the staff that walked past.

"If we find out she's just one of you but polyjuiced, it'll be a lifetime ban for everyone involved, alright? Now, play fair and have a nice Christmas," said the witch as they were ushered to a booth near the back.

There was a fire roaring to one side of the room, and Harry shook out the chill that had settled in his bones. He swore he never used to feel this cold when he was younger; wasn’t the added weight he’d put on over the years supposed to act as insulation?

He sat at the edge of the booth, certain that he’d be standing up every five minutes for the kids to go to the loo. Their server passed around the menus — laminated sheets that updated instantly every time an item was added or struck from the large chalkboard near the darts and billiards.

It was one of the few signs of magic apparent in The Mugg Pub, as they expressly forbid patrons from using magic, and the servers were mostly muggles themselves.

There was a delicious-looking Toad in the Hole that Harry was eying, but he always got that, and he knew that Ginny liked to trade dishes halfway through, so maybe either the steak and kidney pie or bangers and mash. He was just about to ask her opinion when the owner approached carrying a live chicken under her arm.

“I won’t be getting any trouble from you lot, will I?” she asked, stroking the chicken and making cooing noises.

“Of course not, we’ll be on our best behavior,” Harry assured her, though she seemed unconvinced. “Is it, erm, common to have a live chicken in muggle pubs?”

The woman frowned and glanced down at the chicken, who seemed unaffected by the question. “You mean Betsy here? Plenty of muggle pubs have pets, you can ask any muggle.”

“But chickens?”

“I’m allergic to dogs and cats, and what’s it to you? There’s no chicken on the menu now, is there? Like I said, I don’t want you lot causing any trouble.”

“We aren’t. We won’t,” Ginny assured her, giving Harry a sidelong glance. “Now, what have you got on the telly today?”

“Well now, we’ve got football on these two. This one here is Liverpool, I have it on good authority that they’re the best club in the league, maybe any league. They’re the ones in red there. And over there is some fightin’, I can’t quite recall what they… Joe!” she shouted, gesturing to a tall man carrying two plates of chips, “what’s the fightin’ called again?”

“Mixed martial arts,” he said, coming over eagerly. “These fighters — they know all sorts of fighting styles: Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, Muay Thai, kickboxing, that sort of thing. I recorded this match a few years ago. That fighter there is The Outlaw, he was Britain’s best MMA fighter since…”

“I just asked for the name of the sport, not the whole bleedin’ commentary, Joe. Now get those chips out before they go cold.”

* * *

Partway through their dinner, Harry felt a tap on this shoulder, turning from his meal to find a young girl watching him. The girl’s eyes went wide as Harry saw her, and she nearly shoved her pen and notebook into his hands in surprise.

“Looking for an autograph?” Harry asked. He didn’t get bombarded by fans and reporters quite like he used to, but people sometimes sent letters or requested the occasional autograph when they recognized his telltale scar.

“Is she really Ginny Weasley?” asked the girl, peeking past Harry to see further into the booth. “My mum said it was. I have a poster of her at home, when she scored two-hundred points in a single match against the Bavarians, but dad won’t let me floo back to get it.”

Harry took in the old Holyhead Harpies kit and laughed, turning to Ginny with the notebook. “Seems you’ve got a fan,” he said, gesturing to the girl, “I almost mistook her for one of mine.”

"I think most of your fans are _Witch Weekly_ readers at this point," Ginny answered, "especially after that photo shoot five years back. I bet Romilda framed the issue and hung it in her flat."

"Am I ever going to live that down?" Harry asked. "You know, she cornered me in the Leaky and asked me to sign it last year. I honestly think you might be right."

He turned back to his ale and found it was nearly empty. Had he almost finished two already? He didn’t feel like two-drink Harry, he hardly even felt like one-drink Harry.

Al made a frustrated sound and James laughed, his cheeks still reddened from the cold. _Or from half my ale,_ Harry thought, watching James warily. He'd need to pull him aside later, but not now during dinner.

Still, he couldn't be too angry. Harry had so many happy memories of post-quidditch celebrations in the common room after Fred and George snuck a whole keg of butterbeer in through a secret passage, it felt like a betrayal to his son to be mad about it now.

This was what they’d fought for, after all. The opportunity for their kids to live their own lives and make mistakes, and the freedom and safety to learn from those mistakes.

It was refreshing, thinking about the simplicity of his teenagers' wants and fears, far removed from his own days at Hogwarts, when every year inevitably led to some sort of epic showdown, like clockwork. He almost envied them at times, but he wouldn't change any of his life for fear of losing what he had now.

* * *

The Mugg Pub quiz was divided into four rounds: history, sport, entertainment, and hodgepodge, which contained all manner of questions from muggle technology to advertising slogans, though often misrepresented from what Harry could remember of his childhood among muggles.

"And for the last question in the history round, which of Britain's most famous spies was given the call sign 'double-nought seven'?"

"Hang on," said Harry, leaning over to take the quiz sheet from Ginny, "I know this one, but it isn't history. I swear I've seen one of the films before."

The owner of The Mugg Pub was at his elbow in an instant, her eyes piercing as she stared him down. "Are we going to have a problem, Mr. Potter? If you know the answer, you know what to do," she said, pointing at the quiz sheet with a menacing finger.

Ginny snorted once she'd left, taking a swig of her drink. " _Come on, 'Mione_ ," she mimicked in Ron's voice, " _can't you let this one go_?"

Harry laughed, raising his hands in defeat, "Hey, fine, at least I know the answer."

He reached for his ale, frowning when he found it empty. He narrowed his eyes at James, who had the audacity to look surprised, though he said nothing. Harry ordered another, resolving to keep his hand over top the mug for the rest of the quiz — and to have a chat with James after dinner.

“Oh! I know this one!” said Ginny, sliding the quiz sheet in front of her. “It’s Kenny Dalglish! We watched a whole series of moving pictures on him when we studied muggle strikers with the Harpies.”

“I think you might know more about football than me,” Harry said.

“Of course I do,” Ginny smirked, “you were a natural seeker, but you didn’t really study the game. Just getting by on skill and luck.”

“Don’t forget the good looks.”

“Oh, I never do,” Ginny said, and Harry felt a shiver travel down his spine at her look. That’s all it ever took, a single look like that, and he was hers.

Ginny managed a streak with a few football questions from her Harpies days, and at the halfway mark, Harry solved a handful of dingbats from old cartoons that were still lodged in his memory after all these years, but aside from that, their team was doing rather poorly. He was forced to admit — while Al gloated — that it was more fun with Hermione, because at least they would be winning.

All in all, it was a lovely night except that his drink was nearly empty again. He was certain that he drank some of it, but there was at least another sip or two that disappeared. James looked innocent — if he could ever be described as such — happily eating from Al’s plate and suggesting rude answers for all the questions he didn’t know.

Al was busily flipping through a book he’d brought, smiling to himself as he jotted little notes alongside the pages, lost in his own little world.

Harry finished the rest of his drink and set it aside. If it wasn't one of the boys, maybe it was just the mugs at the Mugg Pub, siphoning off ale so he'd be forced to buy more. Hermione would be ecstatic if that were true, but he wasn't sure it was worth subjecting the pub to one of her crusades, just for a little payback.

Lily had taken over their quiz efforts, answering a string of questions about muggle music without hesitation, singing along as she wrote the answers in bubbly letters.

"When did she get so good with muggle bands?" Harry asked, leaning toward Ginny. "She definitely doesn't get it from me."

"I think she's hanging out with a new muggleborn friend at Hogwarts, but she hasn't said much. She isn’t usually so tight-lipped."

"Well, maybe I'm just trying to concentrate on winning," Lily said, her face nearly scarlet as she scribbled another answer down.

"Or maybe it's because this muggleborn bloke is a Ravenclaw two years ahead of her," said James

"No, it's not, James! I just like reading the magazines! You don't know anything!" Lily huffed and stomped toward the back of the pub, her fists clenched at her sides.

"Where would she even get the magazines, anyway?" asked Al, pushing what was left of his dinner around the plate.

Harry stood to follow his daughter. "I've got this," he assured Ginny, though he wasn't so sure that he did.

* * *

Harry followed Lily to the back of the pub, letting her find a spot to stop pacing before he spoke. “Hey, Lil, are you alright? And who’s this older Ravenclaw James mentioned? Anyone I should be worried about?”

“Come on, Dad, don’t be so embarrassing!”

Harry shrugged it off, “Two years may not seem like much, but when you’re younger, it can still be a big deal. If this...”

“I don’t even like him like that, I just like his music!” Lily said, her cheeks rosy like Ginny’s got when she had a little too much to drink. “And besides, I asked him to go out with me and he said he wasn’t interested, he just likes being my friend.”

“So he shares his muggle music with you?”

“And he lets me borrow his old magazines. All the muggles are so interesting and sophisticated and they have so many feelings, it’s not like wizard bands, dad. And they all have these devices and they put their photographs and music in clouds.”

Lily’s balance was a little off, and she nearly knocked over a passing server’s tray as she gestured with her arms, and Harry finally realized what had happened to his drink. “Wait a minute, young lady, it was you! You’ve been stealing sips of my ale!”

“No, I haven’t!” Lilly hiccoughed, trying to cover her mouth.

“Look, Lil, I’m going to be properly cross about this later, and there will be consequences, but be honest with me and your mum won’t have to find out. Alright?”

“Alright,” Lily said, her shoulders slumping dejectedly. “I wasn’t going to do it, but James bet me I wouldn’t, and he even said I could use the invisibility cloak if I got away with it.”

“The cloak isn’t his to give,” Harry said, and Lily’s posture somehow drooped even lower. “What did you want with the cloak, anyway?”

“I just wanted to research the Restricted Section without a teacher’s note, that’s all!”

“That can be really dangerous, Lil,” Harry said, remembering his own near brush with disaster as he’d tried to research Nicolas Flamel in his first year. “What were you looking for?”

“Just research…”

“On?”

“Well, Morgan’s rabbit died, so we thought maybe if we learned a bit of necromancy, we might be able to help.”

“Lily…”

“Well, it’s not like I can do it now,” she pouted.

* * *

When Harry returned to the table, Ginny handed him the scored quiz sheet, and he nearly had a flashback from one of his awful Potions finals. “Ouch, are you sure she used the right grading key?”

Ginny smiled, “What? Worse than you expected?”

“A bit. I suppose I hoped that Lily’s muggle knowledge would save us.” Harry flipped through the rest of the answers, grimacing at how many of his guesses were wrong. “I’m starting to get the feeling that I don’t get out enough.”

“You think?” Ginny teased, reaching out and stroking her thumb along his cheek. “At least you got that ‘secret agent’ question right.”

“Small victories,” Harry laughed. “If we showed Hermione, do you think it would drive her mad or do you think she’d give us a lecture?”

“Both are just as likely, but I’m not afraid to poke the bear,” Ginny said, folding the sheet and slipping it into her bag. “How about we take a walk through the other side of the Leaky, see some muggle Christmas displays?”

“I think I’d like that. You know, the Dursleys never went for the bright and colorful displays, too garish for them. If others knew you were celebrating, you were overdoing it.”

“My dad loved them,” Ginny explained. “He would sometimes convince us all to take a walk down to the muggle village at Ottery St. Catchpole after Christmas and see some of the displays. They were much smaller than the ones in the shops in London, but he liked to see how muggles were using eklecticity for decoration.”

“Why’d I never go on any of those?”

“We had to stop after Fred and George nearly convinced a muggle to buy a garden gnome off them, but I still have good memories of seeing dad finding a light display set to music once.”

* * *

On the other side of the Leaky Cauldron, the Christmas displays and storefronts were all ablaze with light and bursting with holiday cheer. For a while, he was content to follow behind the kids with Ginny, the cold air refreshing after sitting so long by the fire. They talked of small things, like memories and hopes, marveling together at how time had swept them along its current.

And then James nearly tripped into a window display, and Al began complaining that his socks were wet, so they turned back for the Leaky Cauldron, weaving their way through the bustling crowds of muggle shoppers. As they passed the local record shop, Harry was forced to make promises he was certain he wouldn’t be able to keep just to convince Lily to leave, but soon they were out the floo and back home.

Harry had hardly finished dusting the soot from his shoulders before the kids were outside and slinging snowballs at each other, leaving footprints in the fresh white powder.

“Nice night for it,” Ginny said, leaning in the doorway, “watch them while I make some cocoa?”

“And a bit of…”

“Coffee in yours, I know,” she said, kissing him on the cheek as she went. “And a spot of brandy?”

“We must be celebrating something,” Harry said, smiling, “I bet it’s that I’ve got a perfect wife.”

“Flatterer,” Ginny called over her shoulder, but he could see the pink in her cheeks all the same.

Outside, James and Lily were locked in a furious battle, each ducked behind hastily constructed mounds of snow. A little further, Al had constructed a much more substantial fortress, though he couldn’t quite reach either of his siblings with his snowballs.

“Come on, now, I’m ready for your attack!” he shouted, lobbing another snowball just short of James. “You always gang up on me, and now that I’m ready, you’re ignoring me!”

Lily turned and blew a raspberry at Al, who grabbed an armful of snowballs and sprinted at her. Once he’d come out from behind his fortress, James and Lily each turned on him, pelting him as he doubled back for cover, crying foul.

“Here,” Ginny offered, taking a seat beside Harry and sipping from her own cocoa. “Have a good night?”

“Of course, it was with you,” he said, reaching his arm around Ginny’s shoulder and pulling her close. He breathed deeply, feeling the warmth of her body against his own. “Though with our score, I’m thinking we tell Hermione we sat out the quiz in solidarity.”

They sat on the garden bench, laughing as the kids endlessly formed and broke alliances with each other. Harry felt more content than he had in a long while, the reality of his life sinking in the moment he gave it an opening.

All those years ago, when he told Ginny goodbye and walked into the forest to die, he’d known that this was what he wanted. It didn’t take a mindhealer to tell him — though many had — that throughout his life, what he hoped for was a family. And stepping amongst those trees, hearing that eerie silence, he’d _known_ that the dream was dead. Known that he was giving up his own happiness so that others could live a life free of fear, so that Ginny and Ron and Hermione could live.

And then, despite all the odds, he’d survived. There were new scars and new fears that kept him up in the night, but he’d gotten his life with Ginny — with his family — that he’d dreamed of. He almost felt too lucky, sometimes, that after all he’d faced, he could still fade into a quiet life of good friends and evenings before a fire. A life of toasting to happiness, to celebrating birthdays and graduations and one day weddings, and maybe grandchildren, too.

“Hey, what’s got you all quiet?” Ginny asked, but the look in her eyes told him she understood. She always understood.

“Being with you, with them, all of this,” he said, waving a hand in a sweeping gesture. “I’m just… I don’t know how I got so lucky.” He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead, “I love you.”

Ginny smiled, tilting her head up to catch his next kiss. “You don’t think you deserve a little reward after everything?”

“Why, what did you have in mind?” Harry asked, winking as Ginny cackled.

“Harry James Potter, whatever will I do with you?”

“Whatever you’d like,” he answered, cradling her neck with his hand. They kissed, and Harry felt his pulse quicken, his mind racing to fill the gaps in his memory, spotty from bliss. He felt lost in the warmth of her mouth, the lazy way she cradled his face in her hands as she took her time with each kiss. Ginny’s eyes fluttered closed, and Harry wanted to wrap her in his arms and carry her to bed, kids and cocoa be damned.

A snowball burst against his coat, sending showers of cold snow over his ears. A second snowball got Ginny in the face, and she spluttered as she reacted to the cold.

“Alright, gloves are coming off! Whoever threw that is about to get buried under an avalanche!”

“What’s a retired chaser against the pride of Gryffindor?” James shouted, lobbing a giant snowball at Ginny.

She deftly sidestepped it, beaning him with a snowball as he ran, “You talk big game, James, but I remember you in diapers!”

Harry sat back and laughed, tapping Ginny’s abandoned mug of cocoa with a warming charm as he brushed the bits of snow from his coat. Watching his family shout and run, all healthy and happy, he felt his heart surge with warmth, and he understood a little how Molly Weasley felt when everyone came over for dinner, gathered around her table as they shared their warmth and company.

And he once again felt grateful for that first Christmas and his first Weasley sweater, a large H knitted on the front, and feeling, for the first time, that he belonged.


End file.
